


I Suppose Anything's Possible (Even an Original Suit)

by cablesscutie



Series: MCU Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Project Runway AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:05:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cablesscutie/pseuds/cablesscutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the prompt: "Stucky Project Runway AU"</p><p>Or, Steve is blowing things out of proportion, and Natasha's friend is distractingly beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The challenge is men’s formal wear, and Steve wants to die. He says as much straight to the cameras in the minutes following the announcement. He also tells Natasha, his usual model, while she smirks at his melodramatic fit. His face is buried in his forearms, and she’s dragging her nails gently over his scalp, trying to convince him to “Relax. Who knows, you might enjoy it,” in a tone that is almost knowing enough to counteract the magical properties of having his hair played with. 

There’s a sharp click of heels crossing the room, and he feels the fabric of a skirt brush his elbow as somebody hops up onto the worktable he’s currently napping on. A soft English accent drifts down to him, sighing, “Oh, Steve. Always so dramatic.”

“Hey, Peg,” he drones, not looking up. Peggy is one of the few other designers that Steve gets along with. He doesn’t like bullies, and he counts gossips among them, so her direct attitude had drawn him in immediately. As the season progressed, the two got along like a house on fire, sharing a passion for both vintage looks and last-second adjustments.

“What’s his problem?” Peggy asks, talking over him to address Natasha instead.

“This week’s challenge has crushed his will to live,” she replies evenly, and Steve isn’t sure if he’d be more or less annoyed if she just gave it up and mocked him openly.

“Oh, come on. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes, it will,” he protests. “This is literally the one thing I absolutely cannot do well. I have negative inspiration on this.”

“You’ll feel differently after you pick a model tomorrow,” Natasha promises. Steve lifts his head to assess her, and upon seeing her smirk, decides that she definitely knows more than she’s letting on.

“Don’t suppose you’re going to share why?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” And with that, she withdraws her hand and saunters out of the room, tossing one last mischievous look over her shoulder as the thick metal door slams shut behind her.

Steve turns to Peggy, hoping for some support now that she sees the kind of ridiculous behavior he has to put up with, but instead coming face to face with an amused smile framed by red lips.

“Come on,” she beckoned, hopping to the floor and motioning for Steve to follow. “If you’re going to sleep the day away, you’ve got a perfectly good bed. There’s no sense in giving yourself a crick in the neck. He wants to protest, but he's already starting to feel stiff, so Steve forces himself upright and follows Peggy back to the apartments.

The next morning dawns too bright and too early, and Steve is half-heartedly combing his fingers through his bed head in the elevator. When he arrives at the stage to start picking out models, Peggy is already waiting, holding out a cup of coffee to him, which he accepts with a grateful smile and proceeds to gulp down as quickly as possible. He actually zones out a bit during the introduction, missing the recap of the challenge entirely, and only comes completely back into focus when a line of extremely attractive men files out to stand across from the designers. Everyone smiles and waves to each other, and Steve is getting ready to turn to Peggy and ask if she has her eye on anyone in particular, when Heidi calls their attention back to her.

"Now, we've decided to make this round a little more interesting," she starts, and Steve has to bite back a groan of frustration because God, isn't this going to be impossible enough? "So, you will not be choosing your own models. Instead..." Oh no. No. This can't be happening. He's on the verge of panic when the usual models come out to join them. "They will," she finishes, and Steve lets out a sigh of relief because Natasha loves him, and she knows his strengths better than he does most of the time, so he knows she'll pick someone amazing.

"Since Steve won the last challenge, Natasha, you'll pick first." Steve holds his breath, watching intently as she strolls down the line, seemingly with a destination already in mind. He's paying so much attention to her that he almost doesn't notice who she stops in front of.

The model that follows Natasha back to him is on the tall side, and muscular, but not buff like some of the others. He has dark brown hair that's carefully combed into neat swirls, like an old photograph, and Jesus, she is so good to him, because his /walk/ is gorgeous - fluid and confident, and coupled with the cocky smirk he wears, it looks like he could own the world. Steve knows he's lucked out in a big way, and makes a mental note to find some way to thank Nat later.

"Steve," she says, standing in front of him with a self-satisfied grin that can only translate to /you're welcome/ "this is James. James, Steve." And /of course/ they know each other. 

"Hi," Steve stretches out a hand to shake, and James clasps it in a firm grip, calloused palm rough under Steve's fingertips as they slide apart.

"Hey. Nice to meet ya." He hesitates a beat before adding, "My friends call me Bucky." Steve's chest aches, and it has nothing to do with his asthma, because,

"Is that Brooklyn I hear?" And he must be right, because Bucky positively /beams/ at him.

"Yeah, you wanna make something of it?" He asks, unable to muster any belligerence to back it up.

"What neighborhood?"

"Red Hook."

"No fooling? Me too!"

"No way, how old are you? We must've been in school together."

"Nah, my Ma sent me to the Catholic school. Thought I'd get killed in Daly."

"She was probably right. It was just dumb luck I made it out the other end." Bucky took a deep breath, and let it out in a laughing sigh. "Well, how 'bout that...what's say you and me show 'em how we do it on the right side of the bridge, huh?"

"I say after you," Steve nods at the line of other models and designers heading backstage. Bucky starts after them, at a leisurely stroll tossing an arm around Steve's thin shoulders and steering him along, last but never least.


	2. Chapter 2

The fabric store is bedlam, as he’d anticipated. They’re all pretty much crowded around the same few bolts that contain the right kind of material to make a suit, seeing as it’s, ya know, _the only fricking option_ for men’s formal wear. He’d snapped a quick photo of Bucky on his cellphone before running off so that he could at least try to make sure the limited color palette he did end up scraping together would compliment Bucky’s features. It proved to be a bit of a challenge actually, since Steve couldn’t figure out if he wanted to focus more on his intensely expressive eyes or his gorgeously rosy lips.

Natasha’s beauty was easier for him to work with. Everything about her looked like a work of art, but without the insta-crush he was trying to stifle now, he’d been able to look at her like just that - art. As if she and the clothing were two parts of the same painting, and he’d done well so far. He and Peggy are usually duking it out for the top spot, but this round, he just needs to get through to the next week.

Back in the workshop, he tries to focus on his sketches instead of fixating on the red numbers of the timer ticking away. Peggy sits across from him, pencil strokes quick and confident as ever, and he resists the urge to beg her for help. They’re friends, but it’s still a competition, and Steve knows he can’t lean on her. Still… 

“Ugh, this is agonizing,” he groans, tugging on his hair. “How are you doing this?” 

“Hm?” she hums, looking up from her drawing, and regarding him confusedly for a moment before she registers the question. “Oh, I’m not,” she tells him, holding up her sketch pad to show a small cartoon of her hanging herself with a necktie. “Just staving off the inevitable nervous breakdown.” Oh geez. If Peggy’s stumped, Steve is completely toast. 

“Tell me about it,” he twirls the pen through his fingers, and rolls his neck to get the kinks out. “How do they expect us to come up with something original for this? What are our options? It’s a suit, a suit, or - Hey, I know! How about a suit?” 

“God, this is awful. At least you got a brilliant model. James will be a knockout in anything. I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with mine.” 

“That bad?”

“You didn’t _see_?” she asks, incredulous, with wide eyes and raised brows and Steve figures he must’ve missed a pretty pathetic display. He doesn’t get to ask what exactly happened though, because her expression turns knowing, and she fixes him with a look. That look that laughs and tells him _Steve Rogers, I see exactly what you’re doing._ “Ohhh, right,” she muses, “that would’ve been while you and James were busy flirting while the rest of us got to work.” 

“P-Peggy!” he splutters, cheeks going hot at the accusation (not that she was accusing him of anything so horrible, but Steve’s always been quite the blusher). “It’s not - We weren’t -” 

She holds up a hand to silence him. “Save it. I know what that was." She drops her voice into a poor imitation of him. " _Is that Brooklyn I hear? What neighborhood?_ I mean, really, Steve. Could you have been any more obvious?" 

"No, I - okay, he's very good-looking, I'll admit. " 

"He's bloody gorgeous is what he is! And he was flirting back, and I swear to God, you had better do something about it, or I will personally beat you to a pulp with this stapler." She brandishes the office supplies in question to illustrate her point. "Got it?" 

Steve rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh, but there's no arguing with Peggy, so he relents, "Yeah, fine, I've got it," and turns back to his paper, which at the moment contains nothing but a hasty sketch of Bucky's silhouette. 

He procrastinates with Peggy for another hour before they both come to the conclusion that it couldn’t hurt to start in on a basic pair of trousers to get a start, and maybe inspiration would come to them then. They’re still tossing complaints at each other over the cutting table, but at least while they’re gripeing, they’re being semi-productive. By the time he’s running the smooth gray fabric through the machine for the final stitches, he actually thinks that he might survive. He hangs in limbo for the next twenty minutes, until he starts glancing around the room while he sews the belt loops into place. It’s...a little alarming. There are a couple of attempts at vintage that look good enough to be costumes on movie sets, but haven’t quite been rid of whatever failing had driven them out of style back in the day. Mostly, however, people seem to be remedying the lack of options by using bright colors in ways that make Steve cringe. Peggy pulls her simple black tuxedo pants off of the machine and holds them up for inspection. 

“I don’t know why you bother,” he calls to her. “Your stitching is always flawless, Peg.” 

“I know,” she chirps, folding the apparently satisfactory garment over her arm. “Maybe I just like to remind everyone else of that fact occasionally.” He rolls his eyes, but affectionate smile that spreads over his face diminishes the annoyed effect. Steve joins her back at the drafting table they’d started sharing without discussion after the third challenge. 

“So, what next?” 

“Back to the drawing boards, I suppose. I still don’t know what to do about the jacket. How thick should the lapels be? What angle should they fall? How many buttons?" She sighs aggravatedly. 

"I think I’m just gonna go for it. I mean,” he leans in closer to her, lowering his voice to a whisper so that the others won’t overhear “it’s not like it could possibly be the worst. It’s just a gray suit.” 

“Right. Yeah, that’s true,” Peggy admitted, even letting out a hint of a laugh as she looked around the room again. 

“Okay, here we go…” 

Steve starts by drawing Bucky in the pants he’d already made, and then to stall a little bit longer, he adds some shoes. And styles his hair, and fills in the shape of his grin, puts his hands in the trouser pockets, and runs with it. The more he draws Bucky, the less he wants to stop - just lets himself get lost in trying to put him down on the paper that Steve doesn’t even notice that he’s drawn him in a graceful, streamlined blazer until he's regarding the drawing to pick a color for the necktie. “Well,” he marvels to himself, “I’ll be.” 

Alterations, were, as they always seem to be, down to the very last second. In this case, Steve and Peggy’s slow start meant that Bucky was styling his own hair while Steve borrowed eyeliner and tinted lipbalm from Peggy since it had taken all of his hair and makeup time to get the waistline of the jacket to hit just right. 

“Sorry about this,” Steve says, smiling ruefully as he smudges a dark line under Bucky’s lashes. “Nah,” he waves the frantic designer off, “This if fun. I like the whole manic energy you’ve got going here. We should do it again sometime.” Steve laughs, the bitter edge covering up the flutter of nerves from the part of him that was fixated on _Bucky wants to see me again?_

“Not to sound like I don’t enjoy working with you, but I really hope this is it, pal. You have no idea how awful it is trying to come up with a suit that looks original and makes any kind of sense for a person to wear.” 

“Nothing’s impossible.” 

“Given time. I’m just hoping you’re good enough to make this look passable.” 

“Aw, come on, it’s a damn fine suit. I’ve never looked better.” Steve caps the eyeliner and steps back to assess his work. Admittedly, Bucky does look fantastic. However, 

“It is a fine suit. Although, I’m pretty sure the “damn” is all you.” Bucky looks taken aback for a second, and Steve feels himself flush bright red. But then, Bucky is tossing him a wink, smiling and grabbing his wrist, dragging him through the door just as Tim pokes his head back to usher the stragglers (which, as always consists of Steve, Peggy, and their poor models) onto the stage for judging. 

They don’t win. During the judging, Steve stands beside Bucky and explains what he was going for (classic look, and his eyes are the obvious go-to feature, but Steve went with red accents to bring out his lips instead) to the judges, and is met with varying levels of approval. Tim admires his short-order tailoring skills, but thinks he could’ve taken more of a risk; Heidi likes that he took a bit of a nontraditional route by playing up a feature that most designers would’ve overlooked; Zac says it’s nothing you couldn’t find in any of the stores out of fifth avenue, but nonetheless it’s a fifth avenue quality garment; Nina likes Bucky, but that’s about all. At the end of it, Bucky catches Steve’s eyes and tries to toss him a smile and a subtle thumbs-up because it at least sounds like Steve will definitely be back next week. 

As they start to read off the names of the best and worst three, Steve holds his breath and finds himself wishing desperately that he and Peggy had been lined up next to each other, because he really wants to hold her hand right now. Almost like he’d heard the thought, Bucky reaches over and laces their fingers together as inconspicuously as possible. Steve squeezes back gratefully, realizing belatedly that they’re the only pair touching. Bucky’s hand stays steady through the drawn-out suspense standard for all reality shows, and doesn’t let go until their line is revealed to be the middle-of-the-pack group and Steve lets out a relieved breath so massive that the little guy sags against the other’s broad shoulder. 

Peggy’s in their line as well, and she catches Steve in a tight embrace once they get backstage. 

“Thank God!” she breathes, gripping his shoulders. “That was completely terrifying, let’s never cut it that close again.” 

“Agreed. I thought I was toast.” 

“Yeah, same on this end.” She exhales, and when she breathes in again, she’s smiling bright as ever and asking, “So, what were you and Bucky talking about there in the shop?” 

“Nothing, Peg.” 

“Steeeve…?” 

“Peggyyy,” he mocks, “Seriously, it was nothing. Just that it was fun working together, and it’d be fun to do again sometime.” 

“For Christ's sake, you’re hopeless! _That_ was him flirting with you.” she presses, throwing up her hands in exasperation. 

“Or it’s what two professionals say when they collaborate well with someone,” he reasons back. 

“Oh, come on, Steve. You don’t even design men’s clothing. He knows that. He just wanted you to give him your card or something so that he’d have your number, so that he can _ask you out_.” He flounders for a moment, processing, before Peggy sees realization in his eyes and he pulls away to search the room frantically for Bucky. He’s nowhere to be found. 

Steve is running down the hall to the workroom when he almost literally bumps into Tim. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he asks, holding out a hand to keep Steve from barreling into him. 

“Hi! So sorry, Mr. Gunn. I was just - um - do you know where the models went?” 

“Home, I would assume. They were sent off to wardrobe several minutes ago.” Steve stands blinking for a moment as Tim continues down the hall, before darting into the workroom on a shortcut to the models’ dressing room. He stops short at his work station, where an intern is fussing with a mannequin, trying to finish dressing it. 

It’s Bucky’s suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is much appreciated! If you have any thoughts you would like to share (any at all, seriously) just post a comment- I'd love to hear from you.


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, Peggy and Steve are the season finalists. It’s showdown they had both hoped for and dreaded in equal measure. As they put the final touches on their models for the show, they trade barbs around the sewing pins held between pursed lips. The trash-talk comes clearly without heat. They have grown far too close to care which of them is declared the winner. Regardless of the outcome, the pair has elected to combine their talent and start a small brand together. The show is just bragging rights. Steve almost feels bad for the producers that he and Peggy obviously aren’t providing the drama that usually provides a spike in ratings. Some viewers probably think it’s just adorable how they make suggestions to each other that one model would look better in the evening gown as opposed to the cocktail dress, and “Steve, check that zipper, it looks like it’s bunching,” but for the most part, their easy camaraderie is probably getting to be a bore.

When at long last, the time comes for their models to walk the runway, Steve expects to find himself fraught with anxiety. Instead, there’s a wave of relief that washes over him when the stage manager corrals them into the wings. For better or worse, his work here is done. All that’s left is to keep from tripping when Natasha takes his arm to make the final showcase.

“Ready?” she asks him, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she turns to take him in.

“Shockingly enough, yeah,” he replies, smiling easily.

“If you fall, don’t take me with you, kay? This is my career too.” Steve laughs and steps out into the lights.

“I don’t plan to.”

That’s easier said than done, as it turns out. He and Peggy had each been given two tickets for family to come and see the show. Naturally, Steve’s mom was there, smiling proudly and looking like she was ready to start cheering the moment he caught her eyes. He’d considered inviting Sam (there wasn’t really anybody else - Steve didn’t have any family besides his mother, and friends were few and far between) but decided against it, as Sam had zero genuine interest in fashion. Instead, he gave the ticket to Natasha. She didn’t have any family as far as he knew, but it sounded like she had a much wider circle of friends than Steve, so he didn’t doubt that she knew someone who would be interested in coming to watch her.

That person, Steve realized, happened to be seated beside his mom, leaning over with a smile to murmur a comment in her ear as he pointed up to the stage. Sarah Rogers smiled even wider, and reached over to pat her companion on the arm. Bucky turned back to the stage just in time to catch Steve looking and grin. He was probably gaping, or blushing, or both, and he was in front of a room filled with very important people and about to be on national television, but by the time he was able to regain some semblance of composure, Natasha was guiding him backstage again.

“You okay?” she asked, a smirk in her voice.

“Bucky - he - you -” he stammered before demanding “Why didn’t you _tell me_ you were bringing him?”

“And why would I want to do that?” Natasha strode away from him, into the crowd, shifting their conversation out of the way so that Peggy could line up her models. Steve broke out of his stupor just enough to wish her luck and kiss her cheek before he was hot on Nat’s heels, determined to get an explanation. 

“Natasha, come on. You couldn’t give me at least a little warning?”

“No.” she replied, matter-of-factly, turning her back to Steve and pulling her hair aside to indicate he should undo the back of the dress.

“I looked like an idiot.”

“No, you didn’t,” she reassured him, stepping out of the gown and reaching for the garment bag she’d brought for herself. “You only felt like it.”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” he said drily, taking a seat in one of the folding chairs in front of the now-deserted vanity. There was a television mounted on the opposite wall that showed the runway, where Peggy’s collection was on display, flawless work as always. When she appeared at the end, it was obvious that she had made her own dress for the occasion, and the audience adored her instantly, with her confident stride and cool, red-lipped smile. As he watched the final parade of her work, he found himself gladly accepting defeat. She was incredible.

“Hey,” Nat’s voice pulled his attention back. “Make yourself useful, would you?” She had donned a backless blue dress that fell elegantly around her knees, the material swaying as she turned, as fluid as her graceful movements. Steve was handed a black jewelry box housing a simple silver necklace with an arrow charm, and he obediently fastened it around her neck.

“There.”

“Thanks. Now, come on, loverboy. We’ve got an afterparty to get to.” 

The first thing that Steve does when they arrive is to find Peggy and give an early toast to her win.

“Steve,” she admonishes. “Nothing’s decided yet. We won’t know anything until tomorrow anyway.”

“Peg, if you don’t win, I’m staging a protest. That was incredible.”

“All of yours were beautiful too,” she insisted.

“Margaret Carter, we both know who won this round, and we both know it’s not me, so just take the damn compliment already.” She sighs and shakes her head, but takes the flute of champagne he offers her and clinks their classes together.

“Fine.” Then, her eyes soften, and quieter, she says, “Thank you.” 

The second thing that Steve does, at Peggy’s insistence, is to look for Bucky. It doesn’t take long. He’s standing at the bar with Natasha, and even in the present, exceedingly beautiful company, they stand out. He approaches cautiously, palms starting to sweat, and he has to be careful not to let his glass slip out of his shaking fingers.

“Hi,” he begins, so quietly that it’s almost entirely swallowed up in the chatter that hums in the air, and he flinches at how awkward it sounds. To his surprise, they turn to him anyway, both of them smiling, though Nat’s is markedly less innocent than the one Bucky gives him along with a matching,

“Hi.”

“Um...it’s nice to see you again. Nat didn’t mention you were going to be her plus one,” he adds, shooting her a pointed look that says _Don’t think I forgot about that_. She shrugs like, _“Hey, what can you do?”_ and promptly glides away into the crowd, leaving them with one final smug look.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you like that.”

“It’s a good surprise,” Steve blurts, not bothering to check himself. “Just, well.”

“A surprise,” Bucky supplies, looking like he’s trying not to grin.

“Yeah. But I’m glad she did invite you.”

“Me too.” Steve’s cheeks warm, and he’s starting to think that this might be a pattern with Bucky.

“So...How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” he replies, voice smooth and low, clearly in his element. The same can not be said for Steve. “How ‘bout you?”

“Good,” he responds reflexively, gaze dropping to his feet, which he shifts uncomfortably. 

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, taking the opportunity to step closer to Steve so that their arms brush now. “I couldn’t hear you.” Steve’s lips move again, but he can’t even make a sound come out this time. Back in the workroom, before Steve knew he had feelings for Bucky, it had been so easy. Now that he’s supposed to be _trying_ , he’s at a loss, as he always seems to be when confronted with the prospect of flirting. Luckily Bucky is willing to push forward anyway, raising his voice to be heard as he asks “Do you wanna go outside and catch up where we can hear ourselves think?” Steve still can’t make his vocal cords respond, but he manages a nod, and then Bucky’s hand closes around his, threading their fingers together, and he is being dragged through the crowd towards the doors.

The fresh air helps. Away from the oppressive fog of cologne, perfume, and alcohol, Steve’s head feels clearer. After a few breaths, he’s able to meet Bucky’s eyes and ask, “Can I get a do-over?”

“You were doing just fine, but sure.”

“I was dying, and you know it.”

“It could’ve been better,” Bucky allows.

“Bucky Barnes, you are either the best liar I’ve ever met, or the holder of the world’s lowest standards.” At that, the other man actually throws his head back as he laughs, pleasantly surprised by the return of Steve’s personality.

“There you go,” he encourages. “That’s the guy I’ve been missing.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re a jerk, and I didn’t miss you one bit.” The smile Steve gives him is too adoring to let the words sting.

“Alright, I see how it is,” Bucky’s smile stretches warm and teasing across his face. “And here I was thinking that you like me or something. Guess you’re just all talk though, huh, Rogers?”

“Might be. Egg on your face, huh?”

“I think you’d rather have your face on my face,” Bucky taunts. Steve snorts a little and it’s cute as hell.

“Oh, Buck,” he manages, hunched over and struggling for breath around his laughter. “That’s so bad.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs “I’m not a patient guy, and you weren’t giving me much to work with, so this is what you get.” 

“I’ll take it,” Steve tells him, straightening up again.

“The lame come-on, or…”

“Oh, get your dumb face over here.” Bucky bites back another quip and cups the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him up on tip-toe and kissing that smug grin right off his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is much appreciated! If you have any thoughts you would like to share (any at all, seriously) just post a comment- I'd love to hear from you.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is much appreciated! If you have any thoughts you would like to share (any at all, seriously) just post a comment- I'd love to hear from you. Or, you can come join me on tumblr as fire-lord-mai!


End file.
